Tattletale Mystery

by Gertrude Chandler Warner

“Why didn’t she sell any?” Henry wondered.

  “Milly simply wasn’t interested in fame and fortune.” Mrs. Spencer shrugged a little. “Believe me, I always encouraged her to enter her paintings in art shows. There’s a contest sponsored every year by the Mona Lisa Gallery here in Greenfield. I told her she’d be a shoo-in to win. I figured if she’d only put her paintings on display, it wouldn’t be long before art dealers and collectors were beating a path to her door.

  “But Milly didn’t want to spend her time like that, promoting her work,” Mrs. Spencer went on. “She just wanted to spend her time painting, even if it meant never having any money. And that’s exactly how she lived her life — right up until the end.” Mrs. Spencer sighed deeply. “I’m afraid my dear friend passed away a few months ago.”

  “Oh!” Jessie cried. “How sad.”

  “Milly lived a long and happy life,” Mrs. Spencer assured them. “Nobody can ask for more than that.”

  “Do you have any of Milly’s paintings, Mrs. Spencer?” Violet asked. “I’d love to see them.”

  “I’m afraid you’re out of luck, Violet,” answered Mrs. Spencer. “I wish you could see her self-portrait. I was especially fond of it, and Milly left it to me in her will. After she died, I tried to find the painting. But it was never found among her possessions.”

  Henry raised his eyebrows. “That’s strange.”

  “Not as strange as you might think, Henry,” Mrs. Spencer told him. “Milly often painted over her finished works. You see, there were times when she was short of cash to buy new canvas. I imagine that’s what happened to the self-portrait,” she added. “It was always the act of creating that Milly valued, not the finished work.”

  Benny asked, “But what about her other paintings?”

  “Milly left those to her nephew, Jem Manchester. A lot of people thought that was very odd, of course. She didn’t always get along with Jem, and he’d never taken any interest in art. But he was the only family Milly had, so she left her paintings to him on one condition.”

  The Aldens were instantly curious. “What was the condition?”

  “That her paintings never be sold,” replied Mrs. Spencer. “Milly always felt her nephew was too interested in money for his own good.”

  “Interested enough to sell the paintings?” Violet asked in surprise.

  “It’s hard to say. But I guess Milly wasn’t taking any chances. Jem’s not a bad person, but he does place too much importance on money. I think Milly was hoping her paintings would change that. Her real gift to him was an opportunity to appreciate art. Of course, it’s too late for that now.”

  “Too late?” Violet looked puzzled.

  Mrs. Spencer nodded. “Jem took the paintings up north to his cabin. Somehow a fire started, and all of Milly’s paintings were destroyed.”

  “Oh, no!” Violet cried, horrified.

  For a few moments, no one spoke. Then Mrs. Spencer leaned closer, as if she were about to share a secret. “It was a few weeks after the fire that strange things started happening.” The elderly woman pushed her chair back. “There’s something I must show you.” And she led the way outside.

  Curious, the children followed Mrs. Spencer out to a small garden edged with flowers.

  “It’s really beautiful out here,” Violet said admiringly.

  “Thank you, Violet.” Mrs. Spencer sounded pleased. “Gardening is a great hobby of mine. And my daughter, Rachel, comes over to help with the weeding now and again.”

  Jessie suddenly gasped. “Look!”

  The other Aldens looked in the direction she was pointing. “Oh, my goodness!” cried Violet. “That’s ... that’s — ”

  “Yes, it is,” Mrs. Spencer cut in, nodding. “It’s a snapdragon.”

  Sure enough, a bright pink snapdragon was growing in the very middle of a bed of purple pansies. The four Aldens stared at it in disbelief. Finally Henry gave a low whistle. “Wow,” he said, astonished. “It happened again!”

  Mrs. Spencer shivered a little. “It’s the strangest thing.”

  Benny squatted down next to the flower bed. “It’s just like before, Mrs. Spencer. Just like when you and Milly found that snapdragon in your mother’s pansy bed.”

  “But ... how did it get there?” Violet wanted to know.

  Mrs. Spencer was shaking her head. “I have no idea. Oh, I thought it was just a coincidence at first.” She took a deep breath to steady her voice. “But then ... something else happened.”

  “What?” asked Benny, his eyes huge.

  “Last week I was reading in the park,” she told them. “I got up for a moment to feed bread crumbs to the birds and left my book on the bench. When I sat down again, I found something stuck between the pages.”

  The children waited breathlessly while Mrs. Spencer fished around in the pocket of her apron. Benny couldn’t stand the suspense. “What did you find?”

  Mrs. Spencer held up a bookmark with a bright pink snapdragon painted on it.

  “Ohhhh,” Violet breathed.

  They all moved closer for a better look. “I don’t understand,” Henry said, puzzled. “How could a bookmark suddenly appear like that inside your book?”

  Jessie added, “Did you notice anyone nearby?”

  “I looked around, but I didn’t see anyone.”

  “Are you sure?” Henry looked uncertain.

  Mrs. Spencer nodded. “Quite sure, Henry.”

  “I bet it came from out of nowhere,” offered Benny. “Just like the paper airplane.”

  “There must be an explanation for it,” insisted Henry. “We just have to figure out what it is.” Then he noticed something half hidden in the long grass. “Look at this,” he said. He bent down and picked up a shiny gold hair clip.

  “What sharp eyes!” exclaimed Mrs. Spencer. “No wonder you children are such good detectives.”

  “Is it yours, Mrs. Spencer?” Henry wondered, holding it out to her.

  “No, it isn’t, Henry.” She examined it closely, then handed it back to him. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Could it belong to your daughter?” suggested Jessie.

  Mrs. Spencer shook her head. “Rachel keeps her hair very short. She’d have no use for hair clips.”

  Henry slipped it into his pocket. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might be a clue.

  As the Aldens followed Mrs. Spencer back to the house, Jessie noted, “That makes two strange things that have happened: the snapdragon growing in the garden, and the bookmark appearing inside the book.”

  Mrs. Spencer glanced back at them. “Three strange things,” she corrected. “There’s something I haven’t shown you yet.”

  The Aldens looked at one another. Everything was becoming more and more mysterious.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Key to a Rhyme

  As the Aldens settled around the table again, Mrs. Spencer opened a kitchen drawer. She pulled out a white envelope. “I found this in my mailbox this morning,” she told them in a quiet voice.

  “What is it, Mrs. Spencer?” Violet couldn’t help asking. She was almost afraid to hear the answer.

  Mrs. Spencer sat down. “Maybe you should see for yourself.” She pushed the envelope across the table.

  Violet hesitated. Then, with a slow nod, she opened the envelope and unfolded a sheet of white paper. Her eyes widened. “Oh!” she gasped.

  “Is anything wrong, Violet?” inquired Henry.

  “What is it?” asked Jessie at the same time.

  Violet’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I don’t know what it is,” she told them. “It’s impossible to read.”

  Violet passed the note to Henry. Henry passed it to Benny. Then Benny passed it to Jessie. But nobody could make any sense of it.

  “Violet’s right,” Jessie said, after turning the note upside down. “It’s impossible to read.”

  Henry said, “It must be written in some kind of code.”

  “Look on the other side, Jessie,” suggested
Mrs. Spencer. “There’s a message on the back that isn’t in code.”

  Jessie flipped the paper over. It was a note from the Tattletale:

  “To solve this code

  Go back in time;

  Leonardo da Vinci

  Holds the key to a rhyme.”

  Benny made a face as Jessie read it aloud. “Who’s Leonardo da ... da — ”

  “Da Vinci,” finished Mrs. Spencer. “He was an artist who lived a long time ago.”

  The Aldens looked at one another but didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. They were all thinking the same thing. How could an artist who lived a long time ago help them break the code?

  “He was one of Milly’s favorite artists,” said Mrs. Spencer. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Sometimes I get the feeling it’s Milly herself doing all these strange things.”

  “What do you mean, Mrs. Spencer?” Benny’s eyes were huge.

  Mrs. Spencer shrugged a little. “I can’t help wondering if she’s trying to tell me something.”

  Violet felt an icy chill go through her. Was Benny right about the paper airplane coming from out of nowhere? Was the ghost of Milly Manchester responsible for everything that had happened?

  Jessie spoke up. “You don’t really believe that, do you, Mrs. Spencer?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Mrs. Spencer answered. Then she gave her head a shake and laughed. “I’m sure I’m getting all worked up about nothing. This is probably just somebody’s idea of a joke. Nothing more than that.”

  “Well, if it’s a joke, it’s not a very funny one.” Henry frowned. “But I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions until we do some investigating.”

  Mrs. Spencer nodded. “That’s a good suggestion, Henry.”

  “Mrs. Spencer, do you mind if we take this message with us?” Jessie asked. “We might be able to break the code.”

  Mrs. Spencer thought this was a good idea. As Jessie tucked the coded message into her pocket, Henry and Violet looked at each other and smiled. They could always count on Jessie to think of everything.

  On the way home, Benny asked the other Aldens a question. “Do you think it’s true?”

  “What do you mean, Benny?” Jessie asked, as they stopped to wait for a light to change.

  “Do you think Milly’s doing everything?”

  “No.” Henry shook his head firmly. “The Tattletale is not the ghost of Milly Manchester, Benny.” But the youngest Alden didn’t look convinced.

  That evening at dinner, the children told their grandfather everything that had happened. Jessie finished by saying, “The problem is, we don’t have any idea how we’re going to solve this mystery.”

  James Alden finished helping himself to some of Mrs. McGregor’s delicious meat loaf. Then he passed the platter to Henry. He looked at his eldest granddaughter. “Unless I miss my guess,” he said with a chuckle, “it won’t be long until you think of something.”

  Benny scooped mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Leonardo holds the key.”

  Grandfather looked over at his youngest grandson. “Leonardo?”

  “Leonardo da Vinci,” replied Benny. “He was an artist.”

  “A brilliant artist.” Grandfather nodded. “But that’s not all. He was also an inventor. In fact, Leonardo da Vinci was probably the greatest genius who ever lived.”

  The children looked at their grandfather in surprise. “What kind of things did he invent?” Benny wanted to know.

  Taking a bite of his meat loaf, Grandfather chewed thoughtfully. “As I recall, he drew designs for diving equipment and a submarine. Even a helicopter and a parachute.”

  Violet looked puzzled. “But ... I thought Leonardo da Vinci lived a long time ago.”

  “He did,” Grandfather told her. “Long before the days of flying machines. That’s why his ideas are so amazing.”

  “But I don’t get it,” said Benny, putting his fork down. “How can he give us the key to a rhyme if he lived in the olden days?” Henry said, “I think we should find out more about Leonardo da Vinci.”

  “How will we find out?” asked Benny. Jessie thought about this. “We can go to the library. We should be able to find lots of information about a genius.” And the others agreed.

  Right after breakfast the next morning, the Aldens set off on their bikes for the Greenfield Public Library.

  “Do you think this is somebody’s idea of a joke?” Jessie asked.

  Violet looked at her sister. “Oh, Jessie!” she gasped. “Do you really think it’s possible?”

  “I don’t want to think anyone would do something like that, Violet,” said Jessie. “But we have to consider everything.”

  “I have a hunch there’s more to it than that,” Henry insisted. “After all, the Tattletale went to a lot of trouble making up codes and clues.”

  “I hope we can figure out why he — or she — went to so much trouble,” Violet said as they slowed to a stop outside the library. She propped her bike against a tree. So did the others.

  Inside the library, Henry said, “Let’s start by checking the computer catalog.” He led the way to a long table with a row of computers on it.

  The others gathered around while Henry sat down in front of a computer. His fingers tapped against the keyboard as he searched for any books about Leonardo da Vinci. Before long, a list of titles appeared on the screen. Jessie wrote the Dewey decimal numbers on a piece of paper, then they all hurried off to search the shelves.

  When their arms were full, the children headed for an empty table by the window. They sat down with their books piled high in front of them.

  “How nice to see the Aldens again!” said a voice behind them, and the children turned around in surprise. An attractive young woman with reddish brown hair smiled at them.

  “Hi, Janice!” said Jessie, returning the young woman’s friendly smile. The children were regular visitors to the library and often ran into Janice Allen.

  “I’m impressed,” said Janice, noticing all the books in front of them. “What’s all this about?” She took a closer look at the titles. “Oh, you’re reading about Leonardo da Vinci! We were just studying about him in school.” Working at the library was Janice’s part-time job while she went to college.

  “Do you know a lot about art, Janice?” Violet wondered.

  “I know a little about art history,” said Janice. Then her smile faded and she sighed. “But when it comes to drawing, I have no talent whatsoever.” She noticed someone waiting by the information desk and hurried away.

  The Aldens wasted no time getting started. Jessie helped Benny with the harder words. Before long, Henry came across a drawing in red chalk. He turned the book around so the others could see.

  “It’s a self-portrait of Leonardo da Vinci,” he said, as they all stared in fascination at the drawing of an elderly man with long hair and a long beard.

  “What’s a self-portrait?” Benny wanted to know.

  “That just means Leonardo drew a picture of himself,” explained Jessie.

  Violet had found something interesting, too. “This is the Mona Lisa. She showed them a painting of a dark-haired woman with a gentle smile. “It’s the most famous painting in the world. But Leonardo da Vinci didn’t even sign it.”

  “Just like Milly Manchester,” whispered Benny. “She never signed her paintings, either.”

  After a moment’s thought, Jessie said, “That’s interesting, but ... it doesn’t help us decode the message.”

  “That’s true,” admitted Henry. “I guess we’ll just have to look harder.” And the others nodded.

  A few hours later, Benny finally slumped in his chair, his hands on his cheeks. “We’re getting nowhere,” he groaned, looking defeated.

  Henry glanced up from his book. “Don’t be so sure! Listen to this: ‘Leonardo da Vinci was afraid his ideas would be stolen, so he wrote his notes in codes and in mirror writing.’ ”

  Benny straightened up
. “Wow, Leonardo da Vinci liked mysteries, too! But ... what’s mirror writing?”

  “It’s writing that’s backward,” explained Henry. “But if you hold it in front of a mirror, you can read it.”

  “Do you think the code is mirror writing?” asked Violet.

  Jessie fished the message from her pocket. After studying it carefully, she had to admit it was possible. “It just might be.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” said Benny excitedly. “Right, Henry?”

  “Right!” Henry sounded just as excited as Benny. “We can use the rearview mirror on my bike.”

  After returning their library books to be reshelved, the Aldens hurried outside. Benny hopped up and down impatiently as Jessie held the message up to Henry’s rear-view mirror.

  “Can you read it, Jessie?” He wanted to know. “Is it mirror writing?”

  With a nod, Jessie read the message aloud.

  “She is guarded in Greenfield

  By night and by day

  And the smile on her lips

  Never does go away

  The smile is more famous

  Than any in history

  And behind it there lurks

  A snapdragon mystery.”

  “All right!” cried Benny. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

  Violet didn’t look so sure. “But ... what does it mean?”

  “Beats me,” said Henry.

  Benny grinned. “We’re good detectives,” he reminded them. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “I hope so, Benny,” said Henry. “I hope so.”

  CHAPTER 5

  A Warning

  Solving mysteries is hard work,” Benny said as they wheeled their bikes back onto the road. “But it’s fun, too,” he quickly added.

  “That’s for sure!” Jessie said. And the others agreed. The Aldens were never happier than when they were figuring out clues.

  Henry looked at his wristwatch. “It’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t we get something to eat at Cooke’s Drugstore.”

  Benny was grinning from ear to ear. “That’s a great idea!”

  It wasn’t long before they were sitting at the long lunch counter of the drugstore, studying the menus.